Kith and Kill
by lanri
Summary: Dean thought that a werewolf hunt would be an easy way to take their minds off of his deal, hell, and whatever had happened in Broward County. It didn't exactly work the way he expected. ohsam prompt: friendly fire
"Nothing like a good ol' werewolf hunt, eh?" Dean nudged Sam in the ribs.

"Tell that to Madison," Sam said stiffly.

Dean winced—it'd been a year, but he should've remembered that. "Sorry."

"No, you're fine." Sam swiped a hand over his eyes. Dean eyed him surreptitiously. His brother had been running himself ragged to find Dean a way out of hell, especially after that fiasco in Broward county a week ago. Not that Sam was being very talkative about it.

"Dean, maybe you should go get us breakfast," Sam said pointedly. "I can feel you staring."

"Just trying to understand how you ended up with those funny looking ears," Dean said lamely.

Sam refused to look up from his laptop. "You don't want to be in the room right now."

"Porn," Dean said, understandingly.

Sam made a face at him. "Ew, Dean. Get out."

Dean pressed his lips together. "Fine." They had developed a 'don't ask, don't tell,' method to dealing with Dean's deal. And Sam's dogged refusal to let him die.

The werewolf had chosen a nice little college town. Dean appreciatively glanced over a few of the giggling sorority girls as he entered a diner claiming 'cheep eats' with a hand-painted chicken next to it.

"Can I order to go?" he asked, approaching the counter.

"Long as you can pay." The college kid would've reminded Dean of Sam, if he hadn't looked so bored. Sam was always curious and solving puzzles. If Sam was bored, he'd do something about it.

"Two specials," Dean said. "And two coffees."

The kid grunted, putting the order in with a scowl very similar to Sammy's.

"You in college?" Dean asked.

The guy looked betrayed as Dean broke the silent, keep-to-yourself vibe he'd been putting off.

"Yeah, why?"

"Whatcha studying?"

An unamused gaze met his. "I don't swing that way."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Nah, man. My brother, he's thinking about going back to school. Used to study law."

The kid thawed a little. "I'm a bio major."

"Good school here?"

"Yeah."

Dean's food came up. He grabbed it, and a copy of the college's newspaper in the box by the door.

It was difficult, acting nonchalant as he tossed it to Sam. "Hey, thought you might want to get your geek on . . . sometime."

Sam barely glanced at the paper. "Yeah, right."

"Aw, c'mon, Sam. I mean, after this year—"

Sam's expression slid from disinterested to angry in a heartbeat. He swept the newspaper off the table, standing. But all he said, was, "we need to scout out the area of the woods where the attacks have happened. I'll shower."

Dean sighed, sipping mournfully at his coffee. It would be a fantastic day, he could tell.

* * *

"Sam, hold up."

"First you desperately want to take this hunt, then you want to stop, make up your mind, Dean," Sam said irritably.

"I'm just thinking I should take the lead on this interview," Dean said.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "What makes you say that?"

Dean cleared his throat. "I'm just saying you've been kinda . . . intense. And if this is potentially a friend of our werewolf, then we shouldn't be, uh, intense."

Sam's gaze darkened. He straightened his jacket and knocked on the door sharply.

"Sam . . ."

"Hi, I'm Sam Johnson. I'm a grad student, working on some research around here."

The plump girl who opened the door was pretty cute. Dean turned on the charm, stepping in front of Sam with an amiable smile. "Dean, how d'you do."

Under his charming smile, the girl melted. "Um, hi. Would you two like to come in?"

Dean winked at Sam, who looked entirely unamused.

With the weak story of researching local ecology, they managed to coax the girl into talking about her classmates. They had a pretty good idea of the werewolf's identity, but it was good to confirm.

"Yeah, Jimmy Carter's really big into that forest stuff. He says he goes out once a month to explore on his own, which is dumb."

Dean smiled easily. "Jimmy Carter like the president?"

She giggled, her plump cheeks glowing. "Heh, don't say that to him, he hates it."

Sam cleared his throat. "Does anyone ever go with Jimmy?"

"No, he says it's his alone time."

Sam stood. "Thank you for your time."

The girl faltered. "Oh, you're leaving?"

Dean intervened smoothly. "Sorry, darling, duty calls. How 'bout I give you my number though? Maybe some night we can get some drinks."

She blushed and stammered and agreed. Dean grinned as they left, ignoring Sam's scowl.

"I thought you only went for the model type," he muttered.

"Sammy, I'm hurt that you think I'm so shallow."

Sam rolled his eyes. "If you're ready to think with your upstairs brain," he said.

"Don't be a little bitch. I'm running out of time here, got to get all the fun I can, right?"

Sam stiffened, eyes darkening.

"Let's get this hunt over with," he growled.

* * *

The closer to the hunt they got, the more uptight Sam was, to the point that Dean was ready to punch him in the face.

"Did you finish packing up the silver bullets?" he bit out.

"Yes, did you sharpen the knife?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

Dean grit his teeth. The sun was setting, which meant they had to get a move on and do this hunt. It felt far too rushed and the two of them were on edge, which wasn't a good start.

Sam shrugged on his jacket, looking at Dean with a sarcastic tint in his eye. "Coming?"

"Yeah." Dean grabbed the weapons bag and headed out. Sam started towards the driver's side until Dean snorted. Sam turned on his heel, stalking towards his seat.

"This is gonna go so well," Dean muttered to himself.

They managed to drive out to the park without killing each other. The second the Impala stopped Sam was out, gun held at the ready and body set for a fight.

"C'mon, let's go," was all he said.

As much as Dean appreciated Sam being independent and taking the lead, since he knew he'd be gone soon, but it still grated against him the wrong way. He shoved his way out of the car in a rush, loading his gun quickly and hefting the heavy duty flashlight.

"This way," he said, gesturing a different direction.

Sam's broad shoulders tightened in front of him. "Why that way?"

"I have a feeling." He winced at Sam's unamused expression. "Call it instinct."

Sam took a deep breath. "Fine."

"What's your problem?" The words escaped Dean's mouth before he could stop them.

An ugly look crossed over Sam's face. "What's my problem? Maybe the fact that you're hindering my fight to get you out of hell. Or how you question my every move."

Dean bristled. "I wouldn't have to question your every move if you weren't acting secretive and weird all the time. And hanging out with that demon."

Sam gestured wildly. "Really? Back to that? You are so blinded by your own shortsightedness that you don't even see what's going on around you, Dean!?"

Dean opened his mouth to retort; the werewolf took advantage of their distraction and chose that moment to attack. Dean was barreled over by its weight, sharp jaws snapping two inches away from his face.

Sam yelled out Dean's name, like he usually did when Dean was in danger, but there was something so harsh and dangerous about the sound that even the werewolf seemed to sense it. It howled, running off without warning.

"Dean!"

Dean cursed profusely, getting to his feet. "Go, go, go, it's getting away!"

Sam swept one thorough look over him before obeying, long legs eating at the ground. Dean followed a little slower, hip aching form the sharp contact with the ground.

The sun had set, making it too dark to see clearly. Dean broke through some bramble, gun held ready. When a dark, liquid shape ran in front of him, Dean didn't hesitate to squeeze off two shots.

The human cry made Dean's stomach drop.

"Sam!"

Sam crumpled to the ground, hands hovering between his side and his leg, unwilling to apply pressure to either wound. Dean cursed, shining his flashlight at him to see where he'd shot him.

It was then that the werewolf chose to attack.

* * *

"Easy, Sam." Dean pressed him back when Sam lurched upwards.

"Did I get it?" he slurred.

Dean's smile was tight. "Yeah, kiddo, you did."

"You need to have a back-up in case your gun jams again," Sam muttered. "Learned that a month ago."

Dean frowned, thinking back. "What was a month ago?"

Sam groaned as a fresh pulse of blood came out of his leg.

"Stop fidgeting, idiot." Dean pressed down harder. "Didn't hit the artery, but it went through and through."

Dean noticed a weird half-smile playing on Sam's face. Was he going loopy already?

"Sam?"

"Never happened this way before," he murmured. "The side feels like just a graze."

"Thankfully, yes." Dean ignored the enigmatic statement and placed the bandana he always kept handy around Sam's leg.

"Grit your teeth."

Dean expected Sam to cry out in some way, but as he knotted it tight, Sam made no sound, jaw tight.

"Ready to get out of here?"

They hobbled past the fallen body of the werewolf. Dean could still picture Sam twisting around, bleeding freely, and emptying a clip into the werewolf. Somehow his little brother had gone and become the best hunter Dean knew without him realizing it.

Sam's legs buckled, sending both of them to the ground. Dean checked Sam's wounds, making sure to re-tighten the compress on Sam's leg.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out.

"Sorry for what?"

There was a strange innocence in Sam's voice. Like he actually didn't know.

"Uh, shooting you?"

"Oh, that. Not your fault." Sam hissed as they managed to stumble their way over to the Impala. Sam was calm. Far too calm, and it unnerved Dean. Everything was so screwed up.

* * *

The drive back to the motel was a blur. Somehow Dean got them both inside, panic and guilt making his hands shake as he got Sam onto the bed and cracked open the first aid kit.

He grimaced at his hands, covered in forest debris and blood.

"Hang on, Sammy, I'll wash up and then fix you, okay?"

Dean scrubbed at his hands until they felt raw. He forced himself to take a moment and breathe. He was going to be putting stitches into his brother's flesh, the least he could do was make sure not to scar him too badly.

Dean froze after he opened the motel door. Sam was carefully putting stitches into his leg, sewing up the bullet hole himself.

"Dude!" Dean squawked. "What are you doing?"

Sam blinked at him, a little line appearing between his eyes. "Um, I was just . . . uh, I wanted to stop the bleeding."

"Yeah, but—" he gestured wildly. "When you get shot you lie back and let someone else stitch you up!"

"Right." The needle dropped from Sam's large hand, held so delicately between his fingertips. "Someone else."

Dean strode over, seizing the needle and quickly sterilizing it before getting back to work. "What is up with you?" he muttered. Sam flinched, curling in on himself a little.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"What are you sorry for? I'm the one that shot you."

"I was the idiot who ran ahead instead of making sure you were okay." Sam's voice caught a little as Dean stuck the needle in. Dean squeezed his knee with his free hand in apology, waiting a moment before continuing.

"Y'know, after I'm gone, you should get out of the game. You get any more holes in you and you'll have to only have sex in the dark."

Sam's muscle flexed under his hand, and his tone went harsh. "What's in your head, Dean? You die, and magically I'm okay and head off to college, find a girl and settle down?"

Dean swallowed, hand shaking a little before he managed to make the next stitch. "Yeah, something along those lines."

Sam laughed, a bitter sound that curled up in Dean's stomach like nausea. "Yeah, that'll happen, Dean. Sure, keep that in your head to make yourself feel better."

He tied off the last stitch. "What, are you saying you'll keep hunting?"

Sam shrugged. "Until something finishes me off. Or maybe I'll blow my brains out."

Dean breathed in raggedly. "Don't say that," he growled out. "What, I die for you and you waste it?"

Sam laughed again. "Waste what? I was already supposed to be dead. You just wanted to beat me to the punch. You'll get that, isn't that what you want?"

Dean's vision went red, and before he knew it, he had punched Sam. His little brother took it without bothering to even try and block, head hanging low and hair hiding the place Dean had struck him.

"Sorry," Dean said, again, belatedly.

Sam didn't respond. Dean nudged Sam over until he rolled onto his stomach so he could get the exit wound cleaned up. The rest of the first aid was done in silence.

"Sam—" Dean said, hesitating.

"Go get drunk and get laid with that girl. I'm going to sleep."

* * *

Dean came back, wasted and swaying on his feet. The motel room wasn't dark like he'd expected; Sam was up, pale features drawn as he stared at his laptop, bruise livid on his cheekbone. He looked up as Dean entered noisily.

"Not staying out?"

Dean shook his head. "Couldn't leave you here by yourself," he slurred. "Gotta take care of Sammy."

Sam's face hardened. "I'm fine, Dean. Go have your fun, just don't get run over."

"Sam." Dean stumbled over to Sam's bed, petting at Sam's face heavily. "Sammy, you can't die. I couldn't live with that, with failing you."

Sam gripped his wrist, eyes filling with tears. "And how do you think I feel?" he whispered.

Dean sobbed, a harsh sound that he bit away as soon as it had escaped, and pulled Sam in by the scruff of his neck. The little piece of him that wasn't drowning in alcohol expected Sam to pull back, perhaps punch him in retaliation for the earlier hit. Sam didn't, though. The moment stretched on. Dean realized suddenly that he had to pee and made to stand up. Sam slumped at the movement, a little snore escaping. The fighting, the hunts, the long hours of research must have caught up to him. Dean carefully—as carefully as whiskey-laced veins could allow—settled Sam back against the bed, putting away the laptop and drawing a blanket over his little brother. Thick grief clogged his throat.

"I'm sorry," he rasped. Brushing Sam's hair back with clumsy fingers, he bent down and pressed his lips to Sam's forehead, a benediction to seal the damnation he'd given to his brother. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

 **A/N:** this was written far too quickly, since I was already almost a month late from when the prompt on ohsam was written. Heh. Go me. Hopefully there aren't any major mistakes. Future projects, to my dedicated readers: glass 'verse (at least 2 more installments), potentially? a house rules sequel (I just received a review about it and realized I had been meaning to try and write one, so I'll look over it again. No promises though!) and at some point i'll post the prompt fic where you can send me prompts and i'll write them!

Whew, that's gonna be a lot. It'll be slow going, but hopefully it'll work out :D

Thanks for reading!


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